Prologue
Club Haunt
Midnight
Orange strobe lights. Pumpkin-scented incense.
Glow-in-the-dark spiderwebs.
Evil-faced jack-o’-lanterns.
Ouija board and tarot cards.
Inhibitions were left at the door, along with the cover charge. The adult Halloween costumes guaranteed anonymity. Everyone wore a mask.
Pheromones heated the crowded club and sweat trickled down chests and between thighs. Anticipated sex throbbed as insistently as Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”
Captain America stood against the wall and took it all in. On the dance floor, Darth Vader fondled Scarlett O’Hara. At the corner of the bat-shaped bar, a sexy skeleton stroked Jesse James’s revolver. The outlaw was cocked.
A well-oiled Tin Man felt up Dorothy beneath an exit sign. Her red heels clicked as he kissed her back to Kansas.
In a darkened corner, Zorro twisted more than the fringe on a flapper’s costume. Behind the buffet, a zombie unwrapped an Egyptian mummy down to her thong.
It was a night to get laid.
Captain America shifted, adjusting his patriotic bodysuit, a replica of the original American-flag motif. His blue mask had an A centered on his forehead, and gold poly-foam wings were clipped on his shoulders. His red boots reached his knees. His red gloves cleared his elbows. He was armed with an indestructible shield that could be thrown as a weapon.
“This is one hell of a party.” The Incredible Hulk handed the captain a Samuel Adams. “I’m glad you wanted to check out the club. Haunt has real investment potential.”
Captain America nodded his agreement. The renovated warehouse sat on a prime piece of real estate in downtown Richmond. Its notorious adult Halloween parties drew celebrities, athletes, models, and executives all year long. The waiting line wrapped an entire city block every single night. Customers sold their souls to the devil at the door to enter.
“I meet with Driscoll Financial tomorrow,” the captain reminded Hulk. “My offer will have been presented to Dan Hatton and I hope to close on Haunt.”
Hatton was the present owner of the club. He’d recently suffered a minor stroke. The man had worked hard all his life, and on his eightieth birthday, his heart had warned him to slow down. As a result, he’d begun selling off his holdings, starting with Club Haunt.
The hot property was a diversified venture for Captain America. If all went well, he would soon own the trendy night club, and his adrenaline rushed at the prospect.
Midnight, and the music built. The sounds became darker, kinkier, more suggestive. Haunt pulsed, and bodies ground against one another. The air vibrated, and the sexual tension pumped toward orgasm.
Hulk took a long pull on his beer, then caught the eye of a Victorian vampire. She flashed her fangs at him. “Lady wants to bite.” Hulk grinned.
The captain watched as the mean, green fighting machine in the torn purple pants sauntered toward the goth-looking woman in a tight black leather bustier and flowing skirt. Her auburn hair fell to her waist and her bloodred fingernails were as long and sharp as her fangs. Her white face powder gave her an eerie glow.
Captain America’s testicles tightened. The vamp wouldn’t have been his first choice for a hookup. She looked damn scary. The Hulk, however, liked the dark side.
An enormous T. rex lumbered past, and the sweep of his thick, spiky tail tripped a dozen people in his wake. Only Wonder Woman avoided the collision. Her red satin cape swung wide as she hopped over the tail and landed lightly on the balls of her feet.
The captain stared at the woman in the red bustier with a blue bottom patterned in white stars. He noted their costumes were quite similar, even though he was an Avenger and she fought for the Justice League.
He admired her endless legs, a hint of pale hip bone, and the slight dip of her belly. The heels of her knee-high red-and-white vinyl boots added five inches to her height. She proved a true Amazon Princess, and one fine DC Comics heroine.
Wonder Woman had curves. High, full breasts and one hell of a nice ass. A wide gold belt cinched her waist and a silver cuff bracelet banded each wrist. A sparkly golden headband contained her dark curls and a red-winged mask hid half her face. She tapped her Lasso of Truth against her thigh in time to the music.
The captain liked what he saw. He handed his empty bottle of beer to a cocktail waitress, then elbowed his way through the crowd. There was no direct path to Wonder Woman. He was stopped twice—once by a flirty, cotton-headed female Q-tip and a second time by a Barbie doll in a cellophane box. While both women drew his smile, it was Wonder Woman who held his interest. He pushed forward, filled with purpose and curiosity.
Wonder Woman was partied out. It was time to call it a night. She had a big day at work tomorrow. Her boss had suggested she attend the club in costume to evaluate its market value. The warehouse was worth its asking price, she’d decided. Haunt had a sexual mystique no amount of publicity could buy. It was the hot spot of the city.
From what she’d witnessed, the club was a gold mine. Her boss had a client ready to invest. According to her audit team, Haunt turned a solid profit. Her recommendation was to buy quickly. The club showed no signs of slowing down.
The nightly Halloween celebrations masked reality. People gravitated and gyrated to the unknown. Wonder Woman had lost two boyfriends to Haunt. They’d both entered the club monogamous and left for a ménage.
Anonymity turned partiers into players.
She wasn’t a fan of the place.
The club’s cardinal rule forbade sex on the premises, but what happened in the parking lot stayed in the parking lot. Though this wasn’t her personal playground of choice, those around her were having a hell of a good time.
Wonder Woman stifled a yawn. She wanted to get out of her costume. The brown wig had begun to itch and the curls had lost their bounce. The bra cups on the bustier pushed her breasts up, doubling her cup size. The blue bottom was as skimpy as a pair of bikini panties. She was totally out of her element.
The crush of the crowd made her claustrophobic and the noise level was deafening. Her eyes burned from the candle smoke and her lungs demanded fresh air. She was exhausted from turning down the advances of amorous costumed characters. Bozo the Clown’s big, floppy feet had stepped all over her boots when he’d requested a dance. Gumby had twisted his body around her like a pretzel.
She scanned the room. The warehouse was enormous, and there was no immediate sign of a black-and-red Ladybug. She and her friend Carla had agreed that should they get separated, each would find her own way home. The Ladybug had hoped to get lucky, and she’d had her eye on Daffy Duck.